


Show Me the Way to Go Home

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Dehumanization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misogyny, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: Some of the Winter Soldier's team sought to protect him.Others weren't so altruistic.





	Show Me the Way to Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic three years ago and just kind of forgot to ever post it here.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://capkink.dreamwidth.org/1349.html?thread=99909#cmt99909) on the Capkink meme: _After seeing how lost Bucky looked during the "I knew him" scene, it made me wonder if he was like that after every mission. Childish and lost,with no direction._
> 
> _So I'd like to see after he leaves a mission and heads to distraction, maybe his handlers/the soldiers he's surrounded by (like on the bridge) take care of him._
> 
> _I'd like to see some of the soldiers---maybe they're fathers and take care of him? While some others want to take advantage of him before he's returned to Pierce._

“This is your team,” they tell the Soldier, and his blank eyes scan across every face. “They will aid you.” He is programmed to know that they will cover him, follow his lead in the mission, but he is also programmed to know he will obey their orders and allow them to guide him once the mission is through. They are men, not assets, and he is theirs to command, whatever they ask.

*

The resistance base is destroyed and HQ’s satisfied, but they don’t have to spend the night exposed to the elements of a Russian winter because their pet mercenary blew up every building in its way and the road can’t be safely traveled until daylight. The HYDRA elite won’t be pulling shrapnel from their skin for the next month. And they aren’t stuck alongside a creature that kills as easily as it breathes.

Lazarev is less thrilled with the situation, and ready to kill Mishin for leading that thing into their tent.

The Winter Soldier is an attack dog. Useful for tearing apart the enemy, but not something to be petted. Not unless you want to lose your hand. He’d told Mishin as much when the man insisted on approaching the Soldier as it lingered away from the team, surveying the destruction. Lazarev could just imagine those cold, dead eyes behind the goggles. Like a shark. They’d given him chills on the drive here and he’d be perfectly happy never seeing them again.

“You didn’t see him when he first woke up,” Mishin had argued. “He looked so lost. Like a stray.”

“A rabid one,” Lazarev had said, but his words had gone unheeded and now here they are, enclosed with the Soldier. The Soldier is motionless even with the debris sticking out of its skin and clothing—it had been much closer to each blast than the rest of them—as though it can’t feel. Pain has no effect on it and Lazarev’s shaking hand snakes toward his gun.

“It’s all right,” Mishin says softly, guiding the Soldier to his cot. “Sit down.”

It even sits mechanically. Mishin is muttering gently to the thing as he reaches up to its face and even though the Soldier’s muzzle is on, Lazarev half-expects the mercenary to snap at his wrist. Mishin gently pulls little bits of broken glass and metal from the skin, and he might as well be brushing away flecks of lint for all the Soldier reacts. Then he is sliding the goggles off.

The eyes beneath are so changed that Lazarev stifles a gasp.

They had been like the eyes of a corpse, glassy and dull. Focused on the upcoming assault, not perceiving any of the world around. But now? Mishin was right to say “lost.” There are no tears there, but the Soldier looks as if he is crying. There’s fright, pleading, and Lazarev thinks of home and the first time Marta got on her bicycle without training wheels, when she’d ended up with gravel embedded in her bloody knees. That helpless look his daughter had given him, the stunned silence before she cried, that’s what’s in the Soldier’s eyes. Whether it’s pain or the lack of an objective, Lazarev can’t say, but it’s a kick to the chest and he finds himself at the Soldier’s other side, lightly brushing the debris from his hair.

They soothe the hurts within their ability to treat. Mishin offers the Soldier his water bottle and Lazarev finds himself humming some tune he can’t name, one that his wife used to sing to their daughter. The Soldier never speaks, but the tension leaves his body and some of the wounded look drains from his eyes.

The next day, when they return the asset to be debriefed, wiped, and put back on ice, the Soldier glances at the pair of them over his shoulder while he’s led away. The smile Lazarev gives him is the same he gives Marta when a doctor’s preparing a shot, and if he feels like an ass for it then, it’s a thousand times worse now.

*

When they pull the Winter Soldier out of the tank, Richards finds himself disappointed.

To be sent on a mission alongside _the_ Winter Soldier, the most feared and efficient assassin in any history Richards has ever cared to learn about, well, that’s a dream come true. Or would be, if the Soldier were anything like the fearsome legend people speak of in whispers. Instead, he’s a shivering, disoriented mess who looks seconds from tears.

That’s a bitch of a disappointment to come down from.

But once they’re on the field, the Soldier changes. The scared little kid persona fades and in its place is ruthless efficiency. Single-minded, lethal determination. Richards doubts the Soldier is all that aware of his own body—what good is a killing machine that lets pain slow him down?—but there’s an entrancing, unknowingly assured swagger to the way he moves that’s a joy to watch. When the Soldier shoots the target _through_ the hot piece of ass shielding the physicist with her body, well. There’s a string of satisfied women who can attest that Richards isn’t gay, but damn if that isn’t the most arousing thing he’s ever seen.

Or so he thinks. Once they’re back at the base, waiting for the brass to get out of a meeting and start the process of refreezing, that helpless “Daddy, I had a bad dream” look is back on the Soldier’s face and Richards realizes he’d named the “most arousing thing” a bit too soon. The power the Soldier possesses, that's one thing, but that power in a totally subservient being?

“I’ve got a mission for you,” he says, and there’s a flicker of what would be relief in a person’s face on the Soldier’s. It doesn’t fade even when he leads the asset into a closet.

“Do you know how to suck cock?” Richards asks, and the look of confusion and shame of not knowing that graces that otherwise blank face is the cutest thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

After, when he is wiping the Soldier’s face with a handkerchief, he chuckles to himself at the sheer non-response the man had to the “mission.” He wants to take the Soldier in hand, see if he can spark arousal in him, cause any other reaction but confusion or submission, but they’re out of time.

He cheerfully hands the Soldier over and the asset doesn’t look back as he heads off to have the event zapped out of his head.

*

“This is your team,” they tell the Soldier, and his blank eyes scan across every face. “They will aid you.” He is theirs to command, whatever they ask.


End file.
